The Exile
by Emerson Quinn
Summary: Breaking down barriers and letting go. Realizing where you are meant to be. Luke/Mara vignette.


_**EXILE**_

"Stay," he whispers brokenly, "please…"

He's begging again, but for her it's not enough. His plea would sound sweeter to her ears from his knees…. Luke's hands are too clean. She cannot be whom he needs to love. What he deserves. Mara tosses her long red hair decisively, and it catches the glow of the setting golden sun.

"I can't," she says firmly, though her resolve is not as strong as her voice belies. "You just want _someone_ to love, it doesn't _have_ to be me…" she trails off into silence, knowing what she says is untrue. His words of proffered devotion ring in her ears, but the siren call of empty space is what she clings to. Mara is afraid to let it go. The wilderness of the star litter galaxy has always been her trusted friend, long before she met Luke.

She is comfortable in her exile. Would her addled mind be as serene in his arms?

He asks again, imbibing his entreaty with the Force, coaxing her senses with the warm caress of the Light. Mara backs away, one step…two. Although she knows his intentions are noble, she can't shake the memories which rush back to her. Palpatine, controlling her, using her. Hearing his voice in her head and the sensation of the cold, hard hooks of the Dark Side in her flesh. Luke's net is not as severe, nor is it cold…but still he attempts to draw her in.

She remembers a butterfly once, drawn to a lamplight, and can recall watching it become trapped in a net. A net so fine, so soft…as if made of gossamer, as if made of lace. She never would have thought something so beautiful could cause so much pain. Then the memory of seeing the butterfly pinned, ineffectual wings fluttering in an attempt to escape. She'd been physically ill, after that. The allegory was not lost on her, not even at the tender young age of eight.

"Don't." Mara says flatly. "Don't try to control me."

Luke blinks, passively. Blue eyes, the colour of a butterfly's wing…they see to her soul. "I'm not, Mara. "

"You are…. don't deny it." She levels her accusation at him, knowing it is unfair. Although she realizes the damage it will do, she says it anyway. "You're just like _him." _Mara does not need to say his name. Luke knows whom he is being compared to. "Don't use my past against me." She is at the door before she even realizes it. He does not try to stop her.

Luke exhales slowly, eyes closed, before stating quietly, "Mara, you're the one clinging to the past. " His eyes open now, a quiet storm building in them. "You think it is all you have left, but there's more…there can be so _much_ more."

A pause from him, and the stillness in his apartment is unnerving. "You exile _yourself_, Mara. You do this to _yourself_. No one blames you for that…we all know what Palpatine did to you. It's over, let it go."

She realizes he has not made a move toward her…this is her choice. Deep in the back of her mind she is surprised that she is still standing there, but something is grounding her. It holds her captive, and she waits to hear what he will say next. Green eyes shine, the beginning of tears threatening to fall.

"You don't need to prove anything, Mara. You've branded yourself as some kind of outcast, always setting tasks and tests for yourself…. to do, what, exactly? What are you trying to justify?" He takes one slow step toward her, eyes pinning her to the spot. The image of that butterfly flashes in her mind, uninvited. She does not answer, and he pushes forward. "You don't need to be alone. You don't need to segregate yourself from something which you deserve…from something that is right."

"Love…makes you weak," she says, voice quivering. It sounds rehearsed, rote. Those words have been driven into her a thousand times, a million times. Now they are second nature. Her thoughts flutter in her head, and she struggles to grasp them. "Look what it did for your parents, what it did to the Order. I've lived my whole life without love...what makes you think I can't live without it now?"

Luke edges in closer still, voice growing lower in the dimness of the room. "I don't think you are weak, Mara. Is that what you are afraid of? To be seen as weak?" He shakes his head. "Leia and Han have love…are they so debilitated by it? I was the result of my parents love…wasn't that the will of the Force?" He brings up a hand to wipe away the tears that have escaped her jade eyes. She fights hard not to lean into that hand. It seems to be made to caress her.

"Your price is too steep," Mara, whispers with sorrow. "I will not become trapped."

"I would never want to see you so," he whispers back. "Mara, you aren't betraying yourself by admitting these feelings. You aren't giving up your freedom." He tips her chin up, and she is unable to turn her gaze away.

"What would you call it, then?" she asks dejectedly. The light in his apartment has faded, the sun long since gone. The glow of the city behind him shines, a corona of luminescence surrounding him.

The corners of his mouth turn up, a small smile. He kisses her once, gently. "Finding yourself, " he states simply.

Luke leans in, close to her ear, and murmurs softly, "Unpin your wings, Mara…and _fly_…"

A shuddering breath escapes, one she did not realize she was holding. Closing her eyes, Mara wraps her arms around him, steps off the ledge of uncertainty, and falls.

Something brushes her cheek, the feeling of gossamer wings. No need to open her eyes.

She knows he will catch her.


End file.
